The Utopia Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 32

At last the repast was almost complete, and Silverthorne conferred briefly with the wine steward.

"I think you will be interested in something I found while browsing through the cellar here some time ago, on a previous visit. I placed it out of sight then, and vowed to broach it only at the proper moment. This afternoon, while on a tour of the cellar, I 'discovered' the bottle and had it set aside for us this evening."

The shining cart rolled in on silent rubber wheels, and a freshly-polished bottle was reverently revealed.

"Old wine is a true panacea for every conceivable ill," Waverly quoted, studying the faded label. "Pommery '74. Remarkable. Do you suppose it could have survived?"

"I am reasonably certain of it. Let us share this wine, and think of the time which was sealed in its bottle so long ago. The world has changed since then more than they could ever have foretold." He nodded, and the sommelier unfolded his intricate corkscrew.

"Perhaps they have not changed that much," said his companion, musingly, as the cork was drawn and passed around for its scent to be savored. "For men have not changed. The battle lines stand unmoved in their essentials between the forces of order and of chaos."

A sparkling scarlet stream cascaded into gleaming glasses. "Or more honestly now, between one order and another, wouldn't you say?" said Silverthorne, smiling leanly as he raised his glass and turned it slowly, studying its contents. "The coloration is perfect."

He swirled the glass gently beneath his nose. "The bouquet is as rich as it should be."

His companion followed his motions, and ended with a single considered sip. "It has survived," he said at last, and Silverthorne nodded.

Chapter 16

"I Trust You Learned From The Experience."

ILLYA SAUNTERED into the office, a shaggy blond wig neatly set over his still-shaven head, neat and calm in his usual casual outfit. Napoleon looked up from his desk and rose to greet him.

"You really should call the city sanitation department," said the Russian agent laconically. "There seem to be vermin all over the streets outside headquarters."

Napoleon nodded. "They're waiting for Mr. Waverly. There must be a leak of some kind in our travel agency. He'll be coming in by way of that subway tunnel thing you used going out. You'll forget all about that, by the way."

"I already have," said Illya as the panel slid open behind him.

The elevator door opened, and Alexander Waverly stood there, looking crisply alert with his freshly pressed suit and neatly furled umbrella. He stepped out, imperturbable, as the concealed panel closed silently be hind him.

"I didn't see a thing," said Illya before anyone could comment.

Waverly looked slowly around the office, his glance touching on all items there, running over the communications console, scanning the desk tops, and finally coming to rest upon Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, both standing facing him by the desk. And slowly his face folded into a smile.

Napoleon signaled Miss Williamson on his intercom. "He's here, Karen. Send down to Ferrano's for a bottle of his best champagne. When it comes, bring it in with four glasses."

Waverly walked slowly across the room towards his desk, and laid his umbrella possessively across it. He removed his coat and placed it beside the umbrella, then walked around the desk and looked at his chair a moment before settling slowly and thankfully into it.

At last he looked up. "I shall be interested in hearing your story, Mr. Kuryakin."

"I—ah—my story, sir?"

"Your point of view on what was going on there in the Park. Come, now, you didn't expect that disguise to fool me, did you? After all, I helped design Klaus. You did the limp very well, but your ear-pattern is quite distinctive and identified you at once."

Illya sat down.

"I suppose you were concerned about Silverthorne. Did he suspect that I recognized him? I presume you had a listening device planted in his quarters."

"Ah—as far as I know, he never... uh…"

"I wasn't quite sure, sometimes. He is effectively the top man Thrush has for the entire South Pacific area, and there has been some opportunity for us to match wits before, on a very real battlefield. And there will be more. I believe I learned about his approach to battle during our encounter this time—I tried several combinations I had been thinking of applying in his area."

"Ah—sir..." said Illya, "when did you recognize me?"

"I believe it was the second day you were serving the front dining room. How could I have avoided that bald-headed waiter who kept studying my reflection in the flatware?" He chuckled. "I should have been disappointed in Section Six if they hadn't put someone on my tail. After all, it was their concern about my welfare that put me in danger—they had an obligation to protect me, unnecessary though such an action might be."

Illya canted a pair of eyebrows and said, "Then you weren't aware of what else was after you. I'll have a full report, with tapes, in a little while, but let me give you the feeling of what I was up against now. Somehow or other, I think through Silverthorne, who wanted to see about recruiting you for Thrush…"

"Incidentally," said Waverly, "remind me there is a very promising young man named Alderson doing original things with computers and other devices; I want an eye kept on him. If he should show any sign of wanting to change jobs, get him for us."

"It shall be done, sir," said Napoleon; "and by the way, am I back on field duty?"

"Effective now, you are."

"In that case, sir, I would like to leave for a moment. I can pick up Illya's story from his report, and I'm sure he'll tell it to me many times in the future."

"Why, certainly, Mr. Solo. I imagine you may have felt somewhat, er, cooped up in here at times."

Napoleon gave him a look and let the door slide closed behind him. Miss Williamson looked up from her steel-gray desk as he came to lean on it.

"I called you Karen on the intercom just now and you didn't correct me," he said.

"Mr. Waverly is back, and you are no longer my immediate superior," she said.

"Which means you will accept an invitation to dine with me tonight. When would you like to be picked up?"

Her long lashes batted. "Mr. Solo, you should know my hours by now. What sort of evening did you have in mind?"

"Dinner at Rusterman's, under the circumstances. We have been through quite a lot together, after all. And Mike, and Ernie are on at the Purple Unicorn, down in the East Village…

"It sounds promising," Karen admitted, with an almost grudging half-smile. "Eight o'clock, then, at my place."

A delivery lift sighed at her elbow and a concealed steel door opened. The champagne and glasses were there on a covered tray. Napoleon picked it up and went with Karen into the inner office.

"… was a renegade Ninja," Illya was saying, "and I didn't feel qualified to take him on in even battle."

Waverly looked up from a fat manila folder. "Mr. Solo," he said, "there seems to have been some trouble during my absence. Can you explain?"

"Yes, sir," said Napoleon, as he placed the tray on the central table. "I made a severe error in judgment, and allowed my personal desires to influence my decisions."

"Mmm. I trust you learned from the experience."